F ind ing Molly
UNTIL HE WAS 6, Jeff Daly lived A brother’s love never fades —
the quintessential 1950s family life Jeff and Molly, then and now.
in Astoria, Oregon: a successful
executive dad, Betty Crocker–style
mom and Molly, Jeff’s adoring—and
equally adored by Jeff—little sister.

ROBBIE MCCLAREN

One day, that all changed. One
day, Molly was simply … gone.
“Where’s Molly?” Daly asked his
parents. He soon learned that asking
the question “Where’s Molly?” meant
punishment or anger. Eventually,
he stopped asking.

Forty-seven years later, after his
parents had died, Daly came across
his dad’s wallet. Inside, he found
a card with the name Molly Jo Daly
and a Social Security number.

Daly and his wife, Cindy,
searched the rest of his parents’
house. In the back of an old file
cabinet was a folder labeled “Molly.”

Inside were documents showing that, just nine days shy of her
third birthday, Molly, determined
by the family doctor to be retarded,
had been sent away to the Fairview

Hospital and Training Center in
Salem, Oregon, an institution for
“the feeble-minded.”

Fairview had closed in 2000,
but Jeff and Cindy found a piece
of paper listing phone numbers
for three Oregon group homes
for the developmentally disabled.
And in February 2004, Jeff met
Molly, then 49, for the first time
since he was 6.

Daly, a Costco member and
an award-winning filmmaker,
has produced an emotion-filled
documentary, Where?s Molly
( www.wheresmolly.net), telling of
his struggle to find his sister and
his mission to help other families find their loved ones, including the passage of “Molly’s Bill”
in Oregon and the debut of a
national database to help match
up missing family members.
—T. Foster Jones

Adam@Home by Brian Basset

Stringing customers along

MUSICIANS WHO BUY strings from Guadalupe Custom Strings in

East Los Angeles discover a fine new dimension of tone for their
instruments. I know, because I’ve bought sets for my electric and
acoustic guitars. But local musicians especially appreciate the company because the strings are made by a family of working musicians who handcraft them—often to a customer’s specifications.
Costco member Margie Hernandez, a vocalist at her local church,
owns Guadalupe Custom Strings. She runs the company with her
sons Jacob, a percussionist, and Aaron, an emcee and guitarist,
and longtime extended-family member José Becerra, a drummer.
Guadalupe Custom Strings caters to the area’s Hispanic community, creating strings for instruments that most of their customers grew up listening to, such as the instruments below, a
folk harp and a jarana, which looks like a small classical guitar
with five strings. Guadalupe’s strings complement and respect
the aesthetics, traditions and sound of each instrument and the
cultures they represent.

“We sell strings
for many mainstream
instruments,” says Jacob

Hernandez. “But our biggest customers are the
local mariachi musicians.

NOT LONG AGO I was visiting a favorite aunt in the suburbs of Detroit. My aunt was celebrating her 95th birthday,
and I went to spend time with her.

While there, I wanted her to see one of my favorite
stores. So I took her to the nearest Costco, not far from
her home.

My aunt has been quite the gourmet cook and still surprises me with her culinary abilities. We used the wheelchair available at the warehouse entrance and spent nearly
four hours going up and down the aisles.

There was food to taste, specialty items to see and the
meat department was a feast for the eyes. We wanted to
sample all the baked goods. Each item was more delightful
than the previous one, and we lost track of time.

As we were leaving the store, I asked her, “Well, how
did you like your visit at Costco?”

“It was better than a party!” she replied.

We want to hear from you

IF YOU HAVE a note, photo or story to share (it should be about
Costco or Costco members in some way), you can send it to “The
Member Connection,” The Costco Connection, P.O. Box 34088,
Seattle, WA 98124-1088, or e-mail to connection@costco.com with
“The Member Connection” in the subject line. Submissions cannot
be acknowledged or returned.